


hand in hand (a.k.a. parklife)

by sickgirl_mp3



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: F/M, just some.. author and his wife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 20:46:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13108230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sickgirl_mp3/pseuds/sickgirl_mp3
Summary: another interview because i can't write an actual fic for shit





	hand in hand (a.k.a. parklife)

“You’re gonna go through life thinking that girls won’t fuck you because you’re a nerd. And I want you to know from the bottom of my heart that that won’t be true,” I watch Jordan recite as he looks at the movie on the screen intently, “It’ll be because you’re an asshole.”

 

He’s sitting on the floor in a pink pantsuit, hair spray-dyed yellow-blonde and pushed into a very short ponytail, a cigarette hanging from his lips. He’s dangerously close to the tv, like a child hanging onto every second of their favorite show, knees drawn to his chest. It’s Halloween (I have yet to ask what he’s supposed to resemble, I’m a bit afraid to ask) and Jordan and I are waiting on Beyoncé to finish with her costume.

 

“What is she?” I ask. I see smoke fan out from either side of his head before he pauses the movie I rudely interrupted and scoots around to face me.

 

He says, “I don’t know,” with a cheeky smile. “She won’t tell me. It’s probably something good. Something hot, too.”

 

“She big on surprises? Secrets, maybe?”

 

Jordan nods vigorously. “Oh, yeah… She’ll sign on to movies and I won’t find out from her, I’ll find out from some article my fuckin’ mom sends me. You should just interview me instead, ‘cause chances are you’ll ask the wrong questions- no offense- and she won’t tell you jack shit. She’d honestly tell you to fuck off when you asked her what her name was if she could do it politely.”

 

“Is she a more private person, you think?”

 

Jordan pauses to think about it before his eyes widen and he’s taking his cigarette to the tile in the kitchen, stomping it out, and running around looking for something. He eventually comes back with air freshener and sprays the den we were sitting in religiously.

 

“Not supposed to smoke in the house,” he answers when I give him a questioning look. “But yeah, she is.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Why not?” Jordan responds somewhat defensively.

 

I begin to speak, to apologize for how my questions come off, but I get cut off by an unmistakable voice with a new, sultry tone that I’ve never heard before.

 

“You killed me. The Penguin killed me. Batman killed me. That's three lives down, you got enough in there to finish me off?”

 

Jordan’s brow furrows, but he slowly turns toward the winding staircase. 

 

“One way to find out,” he replies, making guns out of his fingers and grinning like a child on Christmas and shouting. “BANG! BANG!”

 

I hear a giggle from the stairs.

 

“Four… five… still alive!”

 

Jordan repeats himself, and I see black leather boots slinking down the stairs.

 

“Six… seven… all good girls go to heaven.”

 

Jordan acts as if the fake gun he’s holding is empty and Beyoncé stands at the last stair, letting Jordan and I take the sight of her in a leather number in.

 

“Two lives left. I think I'll save one for next Christmas. But in the meantime, how about a kiss, Santy Claus?” they say in unison, giddy as ever.

 

“Catwoman,” Jordan says, surprised but happy as Beyoncé runs into his arms. “Wow. You did good, kid.”

 

“Thanks, babe,” Beyoncé says, giggling. “Or should I say, thanks Kimmie.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Jordan says, laughing quietly.

 

We’re trick-or-treating in Hidden Hills like Suri and Connor Cruise when I remember that I’m not supposed to be making friends, but asking questions.

 

NYT: Who’s Kimmie?

 

JU: You know Wolf of Wall Street? 

 

B: Who doesn’t?

 

JU:  _ [Gesturing to himself.]  _ Kimmie.

 

B: You should’ve seen him last year. He was Rey.

 

NYT: Star Wars?

 

B: Yeah. 

 

NYT: You think you can talk about how you translate his books to films?

 

JU: Arguing. 

 

B: Arguing and weed.

 

NYT: Why do you think you guys seem to bump heads so often?

 

JU:  _ [Rolling his eyes.]  _ It’s our signs.

 

B: We’re Virgo sisters. 

 

NYT: Elaborate on that.

 

B: It’s more my sign- if you believe in that stuff. Either way, I really want things perfect, the way I want them; this guy, though- this guy doesn’t give a fuck. “Is that what  _ you  _ want,” this and “Just do what you want,” that. It’s hard.

 

JU: Okay, but it makes sense. I’m not the one directing the movies. So do what you want.

 

B: But you write the books! So you know best.

 

JU: Do I? I take huge fuckin’ bong rips before I sit down to write ANYTHING. I don’t know shit. Just grammar mechanics. 

 

B: He’s annoying. He doesn’t give himself credit. Not at the right times, at least. 

 

NYT: How so?

 

B: He gasses himself up at weird times. Like, we’ll be getting ready to fuck and he’ll say some dumb shit like, “Baby, you’re about to get railed by a six time New York Times bestselling author,” and-

 

JU: And you like that shit. You liked it most when we were dating. That’s ‘cause you hadn’t seen how shitty my books were yet. _ [Snorts.] _

 

B: Bullshit!

 

JU: No, not bullshit, ‘cause you’d go, “Yeah, daddy, I want-“

 

B: He is so full of shit, I’m sorry. 

 

NYT: How did you guys come to know each other and start dating?

 

B: I was a cam girl. Every time I’d see him pop up in my little room he’d give me, like… crazy amounts of money, and I’m like  _ [Whispering.]  _ what the  _ fuck _ ? I arrange to call him on Skype and then somehow I let his weird ass fly me out to meet him- okay, scratch that. I know how. It was his money, but that’s not the point, ‘cause I thought he was pretty cute too. We meet and he takes me on his  _ yacht _ and he’s all tall and mean and jealous, and I’m like, “I gotta use him for his money and get outta here!”

 

JU: If she’d done that I would’ve been just as happy.  _ [Grins.] _

 

B: He is so gross. Anyway, I let him take me out and fly me out to see him more and… I realized he was lonely. A little bitter. His ex-wife had really fucked him over. 

 

JU: Ew. 

 

B: He doesn’t even like the mention of her existence. 

 

JU: Nope. 

 

B: So we… start dating. He’s still mean and tall and jealous but he’s my boyfriend and we get a cat together and I teach him how to cook without getting the fire department involved. He lets me spend his money and sign him up for magazines only I’d ever read. He teaches me how to fish and how to write real good papers and that if you smoke while you study and do it again before an exam, you remember shit. 

 

NYT: The age difference- care to go in depth about it?

 

JU: I’m the grim reaper and she’s 19. I’ve stolen all her innocence and joy and now she’s just a sad, youthful girl I use for sex and food. I bought it myself. 

 

B:  _ [Snorts.]  _ He is  _ so  _ annoying! Yeah, but… people get on him a little because of our age difference but I don’t mind. I’m a grown woman, I know I love him. Sometimes soulmates are soulmates. We work just fine. 

 

JU: I went to watch her graduation a while back and a woman asked me if I were Beyoncé’s father after I cheered for her. That was weird. 

 

NYT: Why?

 

JU: I asked my friend Kobe who that fine piece of ass walking across the stage was. Hell no, I’m clearly not her father, that’s what you’d think, right, but nope. She thought I was her father because I’m fucking old. 

 

B: He’s not old. Older than me, but not old. He’s perfect. 

 

NYT: What makes you guys such a great team?

 

JU: I let her do what the fuck she wants. She doesn’t stop my creative process, I don’t stop hers.

 

NYT: Lightning round?

 

JU: Yeah. 

 

B: Yes!

 

NYT: Babies. 

 

JU: I like how you make ‘em but birth control is just so beautiful. 

 

B: No!

 

NYT: Getting smoked out. 

 

JU: Fuck. 

 

B: GOD, yes. 

 

NYT: College girls. 

 

JU:  _ [Grinning.]  _ Love ‘em.

 

B: Cute.

 

NYT: On a more serious note- Beyoncé, what drew you to the film scene?

 

B:  _ [Laughs.]  _ You’re gonna think it’s silly.

 

NYT: Please, go ahead.

 

B:  _ Home Alone.  _ I saw it when I was younger and I said, “That looks so fucking cool!” and the fascination with how directors made movies that I like always stuck with me. It evolved as I got older, from “That’s so cool,” to “I bet I could do that better.” I went from directing little family holiday specials like the ones I saw on TV to taking out loans to buy materials to shoot commercials for my mother’s salon. 

 

JU: I paid ‘em off.

 

B:  _ [Grins.]  _ Beautiful.

 

NYT: Who’s your biggest role model?

 

B: Besides my mother? Jordan.

 

NYT: That’s a really unexpected answer. What makes you say that?

 

B: It’s hard to explain, but I’ll try; he’s just… good. Flawed like hell, but  _ good _ . He cares about what he does, he does it well.

 

NYT: What’s he do?

 

B: His writing. And me.  _ [Snickers along with Jordan.] _ Yeah, but I guess my main thing is, he’s realistic. Is it because he’s seen more? Maybe, I don’t know, but, he’s not afraid to make mistakes, to say, “Hey, I don’t like this shit.” It’s interesting to see, because I look at so many people that I meet that are like him and they’re so… full of the same kind of  _ void _ . I can’t explain it. They’re so bored, so high above everyone else, I guess. Jordan’s not like that. He gets stoned and argues about pointless shit, babysits for my family, lives off microwave food when I get too mad at him to cook. He’s my gateway to a “good” life but also he’s the normalcy I can find in it. Maybe I’m overrating him, maybe I’m biased; a lot of people can’t do shit like that.

 

NYT: Jordan, is Beyoncé-

 

Jordan cuts me off and goes on a rant about Beyoncé and how she’s his hero. The divorce Jordan had before meeting Beyoncé was messy- he’d “lost his shine,” not leaving the house for much more than frozen food and drugs due to it. According to him, Beyoncé came along and made him shape up, come back out of his shell. She’s directed a number of film adaptations for his books, none of them getting anything less than the best review-wise.

 

I watch them now, going door to door and giggling at every adult who answers and turns them down because of their ages. They’re in their own world, unbothered by others who try to govern it. I can’t help but to spend the rest of the night merely observing.

  
  



End file.
